InterAgency Cooperation
by SometimeLonely
Summary: Five Time Agent Brandt of the Impossible Mission Force meets Kingsman Agent Galahad and one time Will meets Eggsy.
1. First Glance

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of characters or organizations contained in this fiction and make no profit from it.**

 **A/N: This is my first 5+1 and kind of an experiment. I've been obsessed with Kingsman and the latter Mission Impossible films for a couple of weeks. Not really certain why, but this is just meant to be fun. Please let me know if you like it!**

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The first time Brandt sees him he dismisses it as his imagination. He's been tracking down an extremist group that has recently been making noise about making dirty bombs and placing them in well-trafficked areas around Paris. As far as IMF intelligence knows they haven't actually made any and IMF would like to keep it that way. He's working this one solo. Since he came back to fieldwork he prefers to work solo unless he's working with Ethan Hunt or someone Ethan has personally vetted. He's worked with Benji a couple more times and he's always enjoyed their time together. Benji makes him laugh, even when he doesn't mean to. He prefers to work with Luther when he needs a hacker. The man is mostly quiet like he prefers to be himself, but also has a wicked sense of humor and is entertaining to grab a drink with after a mission. As much as he trusts and respects Ethan he tries not to work with him unless the need is dire. Ethan is a crazy son of a bitch and somehow he always manages to land the missions the will affect and ultimately direct the fate of the world. He's the IMF's best agent, Brandt has to admit, so it's not all that surprising, but if he had that much pressure on him every single mission he's pretty sure he would have put a bullet in his brain a long time ago. As it is, he still has to take time away from the agency whenever he works with Hunt. He trusts Ethan's judgment implicitly and knows that if Ethan's asking for him then it's not something he can say no to, but it's still enough that even though Ethan gave him the confidence to go back to fieldwork, he prefers to work the one person missions with less of a world impact.

Which is perhaps why he he's currently in this position. Surrounded by the extremists he has been sent to stop, the Uranium they'd just paid millions for sitting at his feet, and the only weapon he has against him the knife he has tucked into the sheath at his back. They're not military trained. Hell, they're barely militia, dumbasses led astray by some whack job doomsayer but, they believe and that makes them dangerous. If he can just get them distracted for long enough he knows he can take them down, but with them as focused on him as they are there is no way that he's getting out of here alive. He keeps his hands up, doesn't bother to reach for the knife that he won't be able to pull without getting shot anyway, and tries to remember if he updated his will recently. He doesn't worry about the Uranium. He sent a transmission to IMF as he was running. The nearest agent is already on the way to provide back up or, in this case, complete the mission.

He isn't prepared when suddenly one of the idiots goes down. His mind catches it in flashes. First is a perfect third eye shot. The second in the circle around him goes down with a throat shot. By the third going down with a shot through the eye he finally gets himself in gear. He takes down two, one with his knife and the other by breaking his neck while the last two are taken down by the sniper he assumes was sent by IMF. He stands for a moment, panting, before he turns to send the sniper a two-fingered salute in thanks for the help. He finds the perch almost immediately with his years of experience and his own limited abilities as a sniper. It's a balcony about seventy-five yards away and four stories up. The gun is resting on the balcony's edge and Brandt wonders for a moment how their sniper managed to get himself there. It's obviously a residential building.

Then his brain catches up with his eyes and he realizes that there is no way that whoever is behind the rifle is IMF. First thing, this guy looks like a barely out of high school kid. Even if IMF hired that young Brandt would have known about him. He has a well-deserved reputation for seeking out, and taking to bed, the best looking men in the force. He has to admit there is no way he wouldn't have heard of this kid, guy, and sought him out when they were both stateside to at least feel out if he'd be interested in a tumble. Second thing, the guy's dressed like someone out of GQ. He's got what appears to be a three-piece suit on, completely spotless, not a winkle, and very stylish thick-framed glasses. IMF has its share of peacocks, but again, if any of them dressed like this guy he'd have heard about him long ago.

He almost puts his hands up, certain that he's going to be the next target, when the guy moves away from the scope. Brandt feels an answering smirk on his lips when he's sent the most charming shit-eating grin he's ever seen and the sniper returns his salute with one of his own, two fingers pressed to the frames of his glasses. It's at that moment that his back up finally arrives, goddamn Ethan Hunt, and what the hell is he going to be dragged into now? They greet each other nearly silently for what can only be five seconds, but when Brandt turns back to the balcony the sniper is gone. He doesn't mention anything to Ethan and though he knows Hunt is extraordinarily observant and has already noticed that he does not have a gun on him and five of the seven bodies around him have been shot, Hunt doesn't say anything.

While the cleaning team does their thing with the Uranium and the bodies Brandt makes his way to the balcony where his sniper was. The apartment is vacant he realizes and when he gets to the balcony there's almost no evidence that the sniper was even there. The dust hasn't been disturbed, there're no shell casings. The only evidence that anyone has been on the balcony in weeks is a small piece of cloth resting on the ledge. A pocket square, Brandt realizes. It's a deep purple and looks like it's made of silk. He picks is up and, on a whim, holds it up to his nose. It smells masculine and earthy and, somehow, flirty. He smiles and puts the scrap of fabric in his pocket before he joins Ethan in the courtyard again and listens as Ethan tells him how they are going to save the world yet again. And the entire time he keeps his hand in his pocket curled around the scrap of fabric left for him.


	2. First Words and First Touch

**All Previous Disclaimers Apply**

 **A/N: I've never done a 5+1 or purposefully tried to keep chapters relatively short. It's been a learning experience for me. Thanks for reading my little experiment! Hope you enjoy it!**

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The second time he see him Brandt is almost certain that he's a hallucination brought on by blood loss and trauma. Until he touches him and Brandt realizes that the pain is much too real for the guy in front of him to be a hallucination. Another world threatening situation about to come to a head, another mission with Ethan Hunt to stop it. Brandt's always known that his association with Ethan will probably get him killed. It's testament to how much he believes in the man that he continues to accept missions with him, continues to follow his lead, especially when it leads to being surrounded yet again. At least this time he's already completed the mission. The world is safe, Benji confirms over the comms that the code for creating a fire sale, resetting the world to the technological dark ages, has been destroyed. It's just getting out that's the problem now, because even though they stopped the code the compound is full of true believers and hired hands. He runs and breathes a little easier every time one of the team announces they've made extraction. And then he runs right into a room with half a dozen men waiting for him. Most of the very angry men who surround him don't have guns and that's good because he's already been shot on his run. Feels like a through and through in the lower left of his abdomen. It hurts like hell, but he's pretty sure it hasn't hit anything vital. Really, the only thing he's concerned with is the blood loss.

"Okay, fellas," He laughs and puts his hands on his knees for a minute to catch his breath, then straightens. They come at him all at once. His plans include taking down the six men around him as quickly as possible. He doesn't count on them being as well trained at they are, doesn't count on being stabbed just above the already existing bullet wound. He's still fighting, but weakening, when another fighter enters the situation. For a moment Brandt is held against one of his attackers as a human shield or as leverage, he's not certain which. At this point he's having trouble keeping his feet.

He grunts as he'd tossed aside and left on the floor as finished when it becomes obvious to the guy holding him that he needs to be worrying about the other fighter in the room. Not a bad assessment, he thinks, as he can't force his body to move, no matter how much his brain tries to demand it. He watches the continuing fight through darkening eyes. The first thing he sees is the suit. It's as immaculate as Brandt remembers from the rescue nearly a year before. Grey, subtle pinstripe, somewhat old-fashioned cut. He notices the man who fills it out after a moment. Probably older than he looks, at least Brandt hopes, because he still looks much too young to be in shit like this. He has the face of a demonic angel, Brandt thinks deliriously, strong jaw, clean shaven, eyes that are bright and intensely focused on the fight around him, unable to be hidden by the thick framed glasses over them. He has an umbrella. Somehow that makes Brandt giggle. The giggle turns into a cough and he manages to force his hand up to wipe blood away from his mouth.

"Hmm," He says quietly, a little deliriously, "That's not great. Probably not making extraction, Benji. Bleeding out right now." He barely hears the field tech's response before he turns back to the fight. His eyes meet those of his avenging angel's and he sees the moment the man realizes just how much trouble he's in. It's like he's decided it's time to stop playing around. The way he fights then makes death seem more like a ballet. He twists and turns in ways Brandt has never seen. Uses weapons meant to kill him against their wielders. Uses his umbrella like a weapon. It's bullet proof, Brandt realizes, when a shot goes off and bounces right off of it. He feels a stab of envy. It would be nice to have gear like that. It's grace in motion to watch the suited man take down the last of the enemy as if it's nothing.

His vision is dancing with black spots as the fighter, barely a hair out of place, makes his way over to him. He doesn't hesitate to rip his suit jacket off. He actually has a waistcoat on and that makes Brandt want to giggle again, but it comes out a curse when the suit jacket is pressed against his wounded side with a firm pressure.

"You'll be fine," The accent is crisp and clear, English. The eyes are determined.

"Okay," He agrees, nodding slowly, feeling his mind begin to slip. He cries out when the jacket is pressed harder still against his wounds.

"Focus," The voice demands, "You are not dying here."

"Right," Brandt coughs and it brings up more blood. It's getting harder to breathe, "Wouldn't want to ruin your work. You saved my ass twice now."

"You did all the hard work," The man grins and Brandt is certain for a moment that he's fallen in love with that smile in that instant, "I just provided some assistance at the end."

"Thanks for that." What he intended as a blink turns into a very long moment in the dark before the pain tears him back to consciousness and he notices in that time the man before him has almost panicked, if the nerves in his voice and the fear in his eyes are anything to go by.

"Don't do that again," He demands, "Your team in on the way. You're going to be fine."

"Okay," Brandt says amiably. He doesn't like seeing panic in the guy's eyes. He thinks tears would be worse. If the guy would cry for him. Would he cry for him? He's pretty sure he would cry if the situation were reversed, "Hey. In my pocket."

"What?"

"In my pocket," He repeats. Those eyes light up in amusement and a little sadness when the hand fishes out the purple pocket square.

"Seemed like good luck," He whispers, coughing at the end of the last word and feeling more blood on his lips.

"You'd better keep it then," He presses it into Brant's hand, then breathes a sigh of relief when they both hear Ethan and Benji calling for Brandt from down the hall.

"I'm Brandt," He knows by the time Ethan and Benji get there his rescuer will be gone.

"Galahad," Is whispered in his ear before those eyes are gone and he lets himself fall into the black.

When he wakes up in the hospital after flat lining twice, three surgeries and nearly a week unconscious, Ethan tells him, his friend smiles at him and lays a beautifully dry cleaned suit jacket over his knees before he presses the pocket square into his hand. Brandt fists his hand in the jacket with a small blush and a smile. Ethan asks him if he knows who keeps coming to his rescue just in the nick of time. Brandt tells him all he can, which isn't much. The guy is English, he's extremely well-trained, seems to be an ally to the IMF or at least to Brandt himself and he's got some great toys if the gun and the umbrella Brandt's seen are anything to go by. There's been nothing on his clothing or his equipment to reveal what organization he might work for. Even the jacket doesn't have a tag so it must be handmade and expensive. Ethan tells him to get some sleep and Brandt takes his advice, suit jacket still in hand, feeling content.


	3. First Kiss

**All Previous Disclaimers Apply**

 **A/N: Going to update the rating a little to reflect some upcoming sexy times. Hope if you're reading you're still enjoying!**

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It's only five months before they see each other again. This time the mission is not at a world critical level. At least not yet. It could potentially get there, depending on what Brandt finds in the office he's supposed to infiltrate. It's the first mission he's worked with Jane in a while and his first mission back in the field after his near death. It's nice that he gets to work it with Jane. They're comfortable with each other, so they move around the room, pretending to be the newly married and insanely rich couple that their back-stories say they are. They flirt with everyone, including each other, make themselves seem as vapid as possible, and dance like professionals, purposefully drawing attention to themselves so that when they're done Jane can be surrounded by admirers and he can slip away, claiming a need for the restroom. It's all going according to plan when he slips into their host's office to see someone already working at the computer and pointing a gun directly at his face. The gun motions him in and he closes the door quietly behind himself. It only takes him a moment to recognize the form and he leans against the doorframe comfortably.

"Nice to see you again, Galahad," He says quietly.

The blue eyes behind their ever-present glasses widen as they look up and take him in. The hand typing stops and the hand with the gun lowers. A grin crosses his face as he stands up and plugs a flash-drive in before coming around the desk.

"I wasn't sure you'd made it. Your IMF is hard to get access to."

"Well," Brandt grins, "It is supposed to be a secret spy organization. I imagine your…" He trails off and lets expectation stand between them.

"Nice try," Galahad grins again.

"Worth a shot," Brandt shrugs, "I imagine whoever the hell you work for would be hard to hack, too."

"And you'd be right."

"In all seriousness," Brandt uncrosses his arms and pulls up his jacket and tuxedo shirt, unsure why he does it, "I would have been dead without you. Thanks."

Galahad takes in the mess of scars on his side, reaches out as if to touch them, then pulls back as if he's thought better of it.

"You're welcome," He says roughly. There's something different in his voice, but Brandt can't put a finger on it before they hear someone in the hall.

Neither of them thinks as they reach out for each other. Galahad slips a hand onto the skin that Brandt's exposed and the other cups his ass. Brandt cups Galahad's face in both hands. They're nearly the same height, Galahad may have an inch on him, and they slot together perfectly. Their lips meet and the first thing Brandt thinks is that Galahad kisses like he fights. All unexpected power and incredible grace. He angles his head so that he can slip his tongue into Galahad's mouth only to find Galahad's had the same idea. They battle each other for dominance, neither giving an inch. The kiss is like an explosion, colors and music and all that bullshit he was told as a kid. He's been half hard since he saw Galahad with the gun but he's surprised to feel Galahad is half hard against him as they rut against each other and the desk. It's almost actually a surprise when the door opens again.

"Fuck!" Brandt exclaims with more passion than he really feels, pushing Galahad back and into the desk.

"Billy?" Jane screeches as she pushes past the guards who she's followed to the office, obviously keeping their cover intact, "What the fuck is going on here?" She brings her arm back and Brandt braces himself for what is sure to be an epic slap. Just before her hand connects with his face another hand shoots out of nowhere to grab her wrist.

"Now, now, love," Galahad's voice is like honey, smooth and sweet, "That's not exactly ladylike, is it?"

"Why you…" Jane huffs and pulls her hand from his grasp, "You promised me that you would stop all this when we got married, Billy! We're done!" She turns on her insanely high heels and pushes past the guards again.

"Sugar!" Brandt calls after her, then turns back to Galahad.

"Call me," Galahad smirks and is very obvious about placing a card with a phone number on it in his jacket pocket. When the card drops into his pocket he realizes Galahad's dropped the flash drive in his pocket as well. Brandt angles a wink at him, then pushes his own way past the guards, calling out for Jane as he goes.

"So, that's the English guy who's saved your ass a couple times?" Jane smirks later when they're boarding their plane at the extraction point.

"Yeah, that's him." Brandt grins back, handing over the flash drive to the tech who's waiting for it. He can't say for certain if there's anything on there that will help them. He has no idea what Galahad transferred onto it, but he trusts Galahad implicitly. Somehow he knows that the Englishman will not do anything to harm him and he assumes that the protection extends to not doing anything to put his job in peril. So, while there may or may not be information on it that they went looking for he's certain there's nothing on it that will harm the IMF and doesn't hesitate to tell the tech that it's safe. The tech takes him at his word when Jane doesn't say anything against it. It only takes a moment for Brandt to realize that he never told Jane about Galahad and put two and two together.

"You're sleeping with Hunt!" He exclaims quietly as they sit.

Jane, to her credit, only smirks and answers, "Occasionally. It's disturbing how often you come up in our pillow talk."

Brandt laughs and let's her curl up with her book before he takes out the card Galahad left behind in his pocket. He grins when he realizes that Galahad left an actual number on it. He isn't brave enough to call, but when he's laying in his own bed that night he shoots of a thank you text.

He gets back: _You're welcome, Brandt._ just a few minutes later. And a few minutes after that: _Get some sleep._

Brandt smiles and falls asleep with his phone still in his hand.


	4. First Time

**All Previous Disclaimers Apply**

 **A/N: We've reached sexy times, and corny times, but it felt right. Hope I'm not totally off. And hope you like it. Thanks for reading!**

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The next time they see each other somehow or another their respective teams have set them up. Sure, Brandt knows that he's been talking about the guy on and off for a couple of months and…okay maybe talking about him non-stop to his friends. And maybe Benji threatened to hack all of his accounts and leave him penniless if he described the kiss one more time and maybe Ethan has taken to turning around and going to extreme measures to get away from him when he sees him coming down the hall, once even ducking into a meeting he had no business being in that somehow led to him saving the world again, but that's not the point. Only Jane and, surprisingly, Luther, see what he's going through and support him. Luther takes him out for drinks to rehash and overanalyze every significant text conversation and when he thinks about it he knows how pathetic it is, but he enjoys their conversations about love and what to say so as not to seem like a pathetic loser. Jane takes him to the shooting range when the sexual frustration builds up and he's acting like a bear to those around him. Which seems to be at least once a week. They shoot the shit out of the targets, scare some recruits, and spar until they're both breathless afterward. When he gets home he's still sexually frustrated but he's not ready to tear someone's head off.

He could, he knows, find a willing body to share his bed. He may not be the most attractive guy; no one would ever say that he was on par with Galahad or anything and, okay, he's Galahad's senior by at least ten years but he knows he's cut, knows he's charming. He's never had a problem finding willing bed partners, even if they were considered a lot more attractive than him and he's had guys in his bed even younger than Galahad. But, the first time he goes out with the intention of bringing someone home for a tumble he gets distracted by a text from Galahad, sufficiently witty and sarcastic, and forgets all about wanting to bring someone home. In fact, he looks around the bar and asks himself what the hell he's doing there. He'd rather be home with a beer, texting with Galahad because who knows when the guy's going to have another chance to get away? He gets the impression that whatever outfit Galahad works for it's not nearly as big as IMF. He's deployed a lot and keeps really strange hours, even for someone who lives half way around the world. The closest Brandt's been able to narrow down is that he lives in and considers London his home base.

He knows they both have to be careful with what they say, that their lives are too dangerous to trust anyone completely, but he wishes he knew more. He knows Galahad is twenty-seven, has a record from the time before he was recruited due to his bastard step-father, and loves his mom and little sister more than anything in the world. He knows that Galahad had a hand in stopping V-Day in some way and knows that the guy is one of the smartest, most genuine people he's ever spoken to. He also knows that Galahad is a lot rougher than he makes himself out to be. He's slipped a couple of times when they have a rare phone call, posh accent dropping, completely unaware of it as far as Brandt knows, and he's all the more charming for it. Sometimes Brandt wants to tell him just to talk how he wants to, not how he was trained to, but he also wants it all to be Galahad's choice when he decides to let Brandt in to that side of him.

It's a shock when he realizes that he's half way in love with the guy before he knows it. He's been in love a couple of times, sure, but he's never fallen so fast or so hard. And it's never affected every aspect of his life the way his love for Galahad does. He trains harder and longer, wanting to be able to keep up with the amazing prowess Galahad has shown him, but never once feels jealous of him. He plans his evenings, sometimes his days, around when he knows they're going to be able to text. And he is more careful on missions, pays more attention in briefings before he goes out and mission stats he receives when something is assigned to him. He wants to come home, feels like he has something to come home to. Loving Galahad has made him a better agent.

And, apparently, a miserable friend. He doesn't realize just how nuts he's made everyone around him, including Luther and Jane, until he's mingling at a party, realizes he's lost sight of Ethan and Benji, and spots Galahad coming around the corner, Jane on his arm, his expression telling Brandt just how surprised he is. Brandt's heart skips a couple of beats before it begins racing. Of course, he's seen Galahad in his suit, but he's never seen him in a tux. It's a modern cut, the color just a shade brighter than navy that brings out Galahad's bright eyes, and no tie, just a blindingly white shirt with black buttons done all the way up to the Nehru collar. He looks so good that Brandt has to swallow hard a couple of times to make certain that his voice isn't going to come out in a squeak when Jane brings him over, because he can see that she's leading Galahad right to him.

"Do us all a favor," Ethan says in his ear, "Grab the room key from Jane, take the guy up to the room, have some fun, and put us all out of our misery."

"Please tell me you didn't set up an op just to get me laid," He growls into his comm.

"Of course not," A Scottish voice he doesn't recognize responds, "We set up an op to get the both of you laid. Galahad's been a right miserable bastard. So, do us a favor as well and let him get his leg over with you as he's been wanting to do for months."

"Nice to meet you, Merlin." Brandt says. He's heard just enough from Galahad to put two and two together and knows he's speaking to Galahad's quartermaster and trainer turned friend.

"And you, Brant. Break his heart and there'll nae be a place you can run we won't find you." The man sounds downright cheerful when he's threatening someone.

"Understood," Brandt murmurs just as Jane and Galahad reach him. She discreetly slips a room key into Brandt's pocket and removes his earpiece under the guise of brushing his hair behind his ear.

"Room 1502. Meet us at the tarmac tomorrow at fourteen hundred hours or pay your own way home," She whispers before kissing him on the cheek and shooting him a wink as she saunters off.

"Well," Galahad raises an eyebrow and smiles the half smile that Brant's been dreaming about for months, "She's something else."

"So's Merlin," Brandt says, running his hand through his hair. Now that they're here and he has everything he's wanted in front of him he's a little nervous to reach out for it, like a sixteen-year-old virgin. He'd feel ashamed of himself if his nerves weren't winning out.

"You look fantastic," Galahad murmurs, almost to himself, looking at Brandt through his lashes.

"You do, too," Brandt breathes out, then finds his courage, his cockiness, no pun intended, again. He steps close to Galahad, lays a hand on the small of his back and whispers in his ear, "I want to peel you out of every layer and lay you out so that I can run my tongue over every inch of you."

He knows it's corny, but Galahad doesn't seem to mind as he pulls in a gasping breath and turns his face slightly to look right in Brandt's eyes, "Well, then. Shall we use that room key Jane gave you?"

"Let's." Brandt agrees. He's surprised when the younger man allows him to keep his hand possessively on the small of his back as they work their way around the ballroom. They stop only once for Galahad to hand his glasses off to a petite, beautiful woman Brandt is sure could break him without breaking a nail. She gives them a small, secretive smile and brushes a kiss against Galahad's cheek much as Jane did with Brandt. It only takes him a moment to realize that the glasses have to be some kind of communication device as the beauty in front of him as on a similar pair.

They carefully don't touch each other in the elevator, standing only a hair's breadth apart, but never letting their skin meet. They're close enough that he can feel the heat off of Galahad's body and it's driving him to distraction. He can tell Galahad feels the same way when they finally get to the room and Galahad pushes him against the door as soon as it closes. The kiss is everything he remembers, passion and joy and power. He claws at Galahad's tuxedo jacket, suddenly desperate to get the other man's clothes off. He feels Galahad doing the same as they remain fused at the mouth. They take a moment to rut against each other when the jackets are off, Brandt bunching Galahad's shirt as he pulls it up and Galahad's hands cupping his face. The kiss is like a battle, and neither of them want to give in, even though neither of them really has a clue what they're fighting for. He curses, then moans, when Galahad finally breaks it off and attacks the skin at his neck as it is revealed as he removes Brandt's tie and undoes the buttons of his shirt. Brandt finds he isn't nearly that patient. He tries to get the buttons undone, but when it takes too much concentration he just rips it open.

"This is bespoke," Galahad murmurs, never taking his lips away from Brandt's neck.

"I don't care," Brandt murmurs in return. Galahad pulls away for just a moment to grin at him. It breaks the thick tension between them and they both begin to laugh. The tension is gone, but the desire has only increased. They giggle their way through stripping each other and Galahad's snorting laughter in interrupted only by an unabashed moan when Brandt finally tosses him on the bed and covers his body with his own. They roll around on the bed together for a time, finding places that make them both hot, places that make them both moan. Brandt isn't even surprised when they find condoms and lube in the bedside table and only a little surprised when Galahad is a pushy power bottom. The younger man prepares himself, looking Brandt straight in the eyes the entire time, and then keeps Brandt on his back as he rides him, taking as much pleasure as he's giving. Brandt grips his strong hips hand enough to bruise and can only groan and bite his lip when Galahad begins to ride him harder and curse in his rough accent that he's only let Brandt hear so sparingly. He looks into Galahad's eyes and knows that it's a sign of trust. Galahad is trying to let him in. Brandt sits up and wraps his arms around the younger man, keeping them chest to chest as their hips move in synchronization and they press their foreheads together, never taking their eyes off of each other. The fall over the edge catches them both off guard and Brandt comes so hard he whites out for a moment.

He comes back to himself while Galahad is still floating and takes care of them both before climbing back into the bed and wrapping his arms around his new-found lover. Galahad rolls over so that they're facing each other and wraps his arms around Brandt in return, snuggling up to him, laying his head on Brandt's chest.

"Knew you'd be incredible in bed just from the way you moved," He breathes happily when they're settled.

"Same," Galahad murmurs, "From the way you kissed. Was incredible, Brandt."

"Yeah," Brandt agrees, "Give me a bit and we can have a second round."

"Or we could just talk," Galahad is very carefully not looking into his eyes when he says it and Brandt knows he's embarrassed.

"Or we could do that," Brandt takes his chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts his head so that they're looking each other in the eye before his presses a sweet, chaste kiss to his mouth.

They fall asleep still talking quietly to each other and stay wrapped up in each other all night, waking when the sun comes in through the open curtains. They talk a little more and then Galahad returns the favor and makes love to him in the shower. He refuses to call it fucking, even in his own mind, because it's much more than that. They have brunch on the beautiful desk off of their room, never losing contact completely, before making love one more time. He dresses while they're talking and Galahad walks him to the door in only the hotel's plush robe. They kiss lazily at the door for a few minutes before leaning against the doorway.

"Too soon and too corny to say I love you?" Brandt asks quietly.

"Fuck yeah," Galahad takes him by the lapels of his coat and pulls him closer so that they're sharing the same air, "Say it anyway."

"I love you," Brandt replies dutifully, surprised when the words come easily and don't make him feel sick like they have in past relationships.

"I love you, too," Galahad murmurs before nearly kissing the life out of him, then pushing him away and slamming the door in his face.

"Call you later?" He laughs through the door.

"Better!" Galahad answers, "Now fuck off!"

He makes his way to the plane in a daze and laughs when every single one of his friends only has to take a look at the grin on his face before releasing a huge sigh of relief.


	5. First Goodbye

**All Previous Disclaimers Apply**

 **A/N: Angst, angst, and more angst before a happier plus one. Hope you like it. It leads to good things, I promise!**

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"I never…never thought that this is how things would end," Galahad's voice has gotten progressively weaker, rougher, the longer they wait in the rubble that surrounds them. He knows, intellectually, that both of their teams know exactly where they are, knows that both of their teams will be looking for them, knows that the work will be slow-going so as not to bring the rest of the parking garage that has buried them down on the top of them and finish them off for good. But, he can't help but feel anger swell in his chest. Because if they don't hurry it up, Galahad is going to die anyway. He's been brave, trying to be calm and collected for Brandt this entire time, but Brandt isn't a fool. He knows that Galahad can't move, that the concrete crushing the lower part of his body is causing him an obscene amount of pain. Just like he knows that he isn't faring much better. He isn't stupid. He knows that the gaps in his reality, his memory, are a sign of something majorly wrong in his head. Seizures or something of the kind.

"Oh yeah?" He asks, trying to keep things light, ignoring how weak his own voice is, how he's nearly panting to get enough air, "How did you picture things ending?"

"Don't know," Galahad smiles up at him, his grin more of a grimace that neither of them will mention, "Some ways better than this. Some ways worse. Always knew it would be on a mission. Thought maybe it would go faster. Always knew I'd save the world doing it."

"Yeah?" Brandt can feel himself slipping again, but tries to keep himself in the present, "We did save the world, didn't we?"

"Bet your ass we did," Galahad murmurs, and Brandt can see the concern on his face, "Baby? Baby…try to stay with me…"

Brandt doesn't know how long he's out of it, but when he comes back to himself Galahad is still talking, asking him to come back, holding his hand and rubbing his cold skin to try to bring him some semblance of warmth. He can taste bile this time and knows that how black it is isn't just their emergency light fading. His vision is fading. Definitely something neurological.

"How long was I out?" He asks and tries not to grimace at the way his voice slurs.

"They're getting longer. And I…Brandt…I can't feel my legs any longer."

"Galahad," Brandt is the more mobile of the two of them. Not pinned down like Galahad is. When the dust first settled after the explosion he'd been relieved in find that he and Galahad were only feet apart. Galahad was conscious and had already set up an emergency light. It barely cut through the dust, but it was enough to see by to make he way over. The rubble on top of him had been easily moved, but trying to move the rubble pinning his lover had proven such a strain that it had set off the first of the seizures. Brandt hadn't know what happened until he came back to himself, feeling exhausted and with the realization that he'd pissed himself. Galahad had been terrified and, for a moment, had seemed much younger than he was as he pressed kisses over and over to Brandt's hand. He'd tried again to unpin the man he loved and his unexpected partner for the mission before having another seizure and feeling even more exhausted when he came back to himself the second time and Galahad had begged him not to try again. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he would have been able to try anything anyway. So, he'd sat, leaning against a large piece of rubble, and made sure both his and Galahad's SOS signals were on and working. Since then there hadn't been much to do but try to keep them both calm. He'd taken off his jacket and draped it over Galahad's shoulders when the younger man began to shiver, shock finally getting to him. And now he lays down so that he and his lover are face to face, holding hands. He can barely see, but he sees enough, knows enough, has memorized enough of Galahad's face, to trace over the barely there scar just under his eye that Galahad told him the story of that first night they were together. Always a mission, of course. He thinks they maybe have three scars between them that aren't mission related, including ones they got in childhood. And he also knows that neither of them regret a single one.

"It isn't a bad way to go out, though, is it?" He keeps his eyes open even though they're almost useless because he doesn't want to worry Galahad.

"What, saving the world?" Galahad isn't even trying to put on his accent anymore. He hasn't, not with Brandt, for months and Brandt loves him even more for it. His voice isn't just rough with his accent right then, though. Brandt can see the tears in his eyes and knows that they both know that this might very well be their last conversation.

"And being with you to the very end," Brandt says quietly.

Truthfully, he never thought that he'd get this much. He's known since he joined up with the IMF that he will die on a mission. Even when he was an analyst something always told him that he would somehow die on a mission. He hadn't thought it would be this mission, granted, but when Galahad's organization reached out for help in dismantling a network of bombers with plans to cause devastation in major cities across the globe with plans to destabilize economies and alliances, end goal: another world war; they hadn't been able to say no. It had taken months and he and Galahad took point. They'd suspected a mole for most of the operation because the leaders always seemed to be one step ahead of them just when they were about to take them down. But, when the bomb had gone off during what they hoped would be a final raid a good deal of IMF and other agents and all of the leadership of the organization they'd been chasing had been killed. They'd thought the mole among the dead. Obviously, they'd been wrong about that. And right to trust Galahad's instinct that it wasn't over. They'd been the last in the parking garage after evacuating it and, he hoped, the only ones caught in the blast. Outside of his friends in the IMF and the agents Lancelot, Percival, and Quartermaster Merlin no one really knew about he and Galahad or they wouldn't have been allowed to work together. He was glad now that they were allowed because, ever since he'd seen him that first time, Brandt had known that if he had to die he wanted it to be with Galahad at his side. He didn't want Galahad to die, too, but…can't have everything.

'No," Galahad finally answers him, his voice full of tenderness and pain, "It isn't a bad way to go out."

"You know I love you?"

"'Course. You know I love you?"

Brandt closes his eyes and smiles. He's known that Galahad loves him, but it's been hard to get him to say it out loud. He's glad he got to hear it at least once, "Yeah. I know you love me."

They talk for a while longer until they no longer can. The air is getting stale and they're both struggling to breathe. Brandt's had three more seizures, Galahad can't hold back the screams of pain after a while until he's exhausted himself to the point that he can no longer scream. Without talking to each other it takes Brandt a good amount of time before he realizes that Galahad has lost consciousness. Good, he thinks, suffocation is a terrible way to go. At least this way Galahad won't realize it's happening. His end will be peaceful. Brandt uses the last of his strength to press a kiss to the hand he's still holding before he closes his eyes and wills his body to give up the fight as well.

He doesn't know if it's minutes or hours before he feels the fresh air on his face. He opens his eyes and can only see dark blurs surrounded by a halo of bright light that makes him squint in response to it.

"Galahad first," he manages to slur, "He could have internal bleeding."

"Okay, buddy, okay."

It's Ethan's voice. If Brandt wasn't so dehydrated he knows that he would cry. Because it's Ethan and Ethan always saves the day no matter the odds. He always makes it right. And Galahad is going to be fine. As long as Ethan knows.

"Galahad first," he murmurs again.

"They're working on getting him out right now,"

Brandt starts in surprise to realize that there's more than him and Ethan in the little hell hole. The long strings he can barely make out must be attached to some construction equipment or something because they're pulling up the slab he couldn't move from Galahad. And then people are shouting for a backboard and neck brace. And then there's so many voices and movement that he has to shut his eyes. He's getting dizzy and he can't breathe.

"Brandt?" Ethan's voice is worried in his ear, "Brandt? Shit! He's going into respiratory arrest! Get another backboard down here now!"

The last thing he hears is Ethan begging him to hold on. The last thing he thinks is: I never even found out his real name.


	6. First Re-Introduction

**All previous disclaimers apply.**

 **A/N: So, we've come to the end. Hope you liked it. I know this is kind of abrupt, but the scenes are meant to be moments in time. And the new code names are nods to animated features about Arthur and the Round Table. Kudos to those who get them. :) Hope you like it!**

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He can hear the shriek of laughter from what he knows from memory is a very happy, very loved little girl and tries to picture Daisy as Galahad once described her to him. Tall for her age, baby fat beginning to give way to corded muscle and solid strength, a gymnast like her big brother. Caramel hair, waist length, gorgeous blue eyes, like crystal. He imagines that she's probably barefoot and running through the garden that Galahad told him once is probably one of the largest in London outside of community gardens and he pictures a riot of colors spilling out of flower beds and green, green grass that is soft enough for a beautiful, bright little girl's tender feet. She's just turned six, he knows. He's clutching a small bag that has a bracelet he bought for her in Dubai at an open-air market months ago. He hadn't intended it to be a late birthday present. He'd intended to meet Daisy and Michelle much before today, but…life.

"Dais! Come in now, sweetheart!" Michelle's voice is lower than he'd imagined from her description he got from Galahad. He can picture her, too. Light blonde hair, not natural but she's been wearing it that way so long that it seems more natural than her darker roots, cropped close to her hair in a pixie cut akin to a young Audrey Hepburn that accents and flatters her round face. She cut it short after her divorce he knows, to stop a man from ever grabbing it and yanking her away from her kids again. He imagines her face much like his own mother's, younger looking than she actually is, but her true age is in her eyes, a blue so dark it's almost purple. She's only twelve years older than him and he hopes more than anything that she likes him, that she doesn't think he's too old for Galahad or…too broken.

"Can hear you chickening out from the other side of the car," Ethan's voice surprises him, but he manages to keep himself from jumping at the sound of it.

"I'm not chickening out," he whines.

"He's so chickening out," Jane's voice comes from behind Ethan.

"Jane…fu…"

"Watch your language," Luther's deep, interrupting voice is as soothing as it's ever been, "You're going to be around little ears. Hopefully. Now, get out of the damn car and talk to your…whatever the hell he is."

"It's a nice part of London," Benji says quietly, "Good neighborhood."

"It looks like a place you might just be able to be happy," Ethan says after another few seconds, "And with your new job…"

"Yeah," Brandt chuckles, "My new job."

It wasn't hard to say yes when he got the phone call and the crisp, English accented voice asked him to come to London and told him that a certain organization was coming to realize that they couldn't work on their own any longer, that they needed to connect with other organizations when threats were on a global scale. Sometimes they could handle them, but with enemies like the bombing organization that nearly killed Brandt himself they knew that any one organization did not have the resources to handle it alone. And with that realization came the realization that they needed to hire someone who had experience working with the other organizations that they would have to, on occasion, ally themselves with. Knowing that he would no longer be able to work as a field agent they wanted to offer him the position.

It was easy to accept the position. Easier to grin when the English voice he was to call Arthur and the Scottish voice he knew was Merlin welcomed him to Kingman, then gave him an address for Galahad and told him that if he ever hurt the man there would be nowhere on the earth he could hide, no organization that would be able to protect him.

And now he's here. In front of the house that holds the person he wants more than anything. Galahad hasn't contacted him since the day they were pulled from the rubble, but he hasn't contacted Galahad either to be fair. He knows why. Neither of them wants the other to think they're weak. But, things are different for both of them now. He didn't know until Arthur and Merlin told him what happened to Galahad and he's betting Galahad doesn't know what happened to him. Knowing that his worst fears have no basis in reality, that Galahad hasn't kept his distance because he thinks Brandt it weak makes him feel like they actually have a shot. Maybe neither of them feel quite complete any longer, but together, together they can be.

Just as he thinks it he hears something that makes his heart skip. It's Galahad. And he's laughing, laughing free and wild and in a way that Brandt never thought he'd hear again. He opens the car door before he's had the conscious thought to do so and is steps up and out of the car. His foot catches on the curb and he almost falls before he feels Luther's strong hands catch him. He murmurs his thanks and takes a moment to steady himself before he lets Luther lead him around the car.

"Brandt."

His name has never sounded better than when it comes from Galahad's mouth.

"Galahad," he nods in the direction of the voice.

"Eggsy," The beautiful voice breaks in a way that makes Will's heart jump into his throat and his eyes water.

"Will," He says back.

"Will," Eggsy murmurs, "I didn't...I couldn't…I…"

"Eggsy," Will interrupts his lover's stammering over the same feelings and doubts that have been plaguing him since their time in the parking garage. It hurts his heart to hear so much pain in Eggsy's voice. He pulls off his glasses, knows the vacant look in his eyes that Eggsy will see, "You can also call me Agent Garrett. Blind knight of the table. Also comes with seizures, memory problems, occasional anomia and a new job as a Kingman agent."

"Will." He can hear Eggsy making his way toward him, very carefully does not wince at the sound of Eggsy's forearm crutches as he does. He knows Eggsy must be as aware of them as he is of his lack of vision. Both of them were so very active, so very proud of their time as field agents. It's been a struggle to accept what's happened to him, a struggle to accept the restrictions that have come because of his injuries. He knows Eggsy better than he knows himself a lot of the time and he knows what is a struggle for him will be doubly a struggle for the man he loves because he's younger and had so much more time ahead of him to do the work they both love. It will continue to be a struggle for years, if not their whole lives, but together they'll be able to make it through. They need each other to make it through. He's gotten much better at reading between the lines since he lost his sight and he knows that Merlin and Arthur want them together to give them both strength. He isn't so sure than Ethan and the rest of his team aren't part of it as well.

"Crushed vertebrae and extreme nerve damage. Comes with crutches, loss of feeling some places, and a new position with Kingsman." Eggsy murmurs when he's right in front of Brandt. Brandt forces himself not to flinch as a feather-light fingers run over his face gently, around his eyes, "Not Galahad anymore. Can't sit at the table. I'm Archimedes."

"Merlin's assistant?" Brandt rubs against the hand that's settled on his cheek.

"Until he retires and I get promoted, yeah."

"Always good to have ambitions," Will murmurs as Eggsy leans into him. He knows it's a good sign that his lover is allowing him to be his strength, "When do you suppose that'll happen?"

"If it don't happen within twenty years I'll stage a coup and just take it."

"Sounds like a plan I can get behind," He wraps his arms around Eggsy and pulls him close, breathing in his familiar scent, "No one'll expect the gimp and the blind man."

"Too soon, love," Eggsy murmurs against his neck.

"Timing's off," Will admits, "Missed you so much, babe."

"Missed you, too."

He cups Eggsy's face in his hands and angles it so that he can fit their mouths together. And then for the first time he knows, really knows, that everything is going to be okay.

Because the kiss is like coming home.

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 **A/N: Considering whether or not to continue this with both Brandt and Eggsy in their new roles with Kingsman. Let me know if there is any interest in something like that. :)**


End file.
